


Kamikaze Pilots

by DeJenerative



Category: due South
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 10:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6114426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeJenerative/pseuds/DeJenerative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray saves Fraser from a bullet, again, and they come to an understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kamikaze Pilots

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to Nicole and Rowan for most excellent betas. You guys rock!! Thank you kindly's to the wonderful ladies at the DSSB list, especially Caroline and nancy, for title ideas and general handholding :-)
> 
> Blink and you'll miss it spoiler for BDtH.
> 
> Originally published in 2001.

We were in the station, working at Ray's desk on some mundane matter that necessitated completing many pages of paperwork and few results when Ray decided he needed a coffee. As we walked towards the break room, a brown-haired man of slightly above average height came through the door. He noticed us and turned to walk in our direction. I stilled Ray with a hand on his arm and turned to greet the man, but he spoke before I could.

He smiled very pleasantly and asked, "Are you Benton Fraser, RCMP?"

"Yes, I am. What can I do for you?" I asked, a little surprised. I had a split second to notice Ray in motion at my side before the man replied.

"You can die," he said, pulling a gun from a holster inside his jacket. My view of him was suddenly blocked as Ray finished his move and placed himself in front of me before the man could pull the trigger.

I felt a very unwelcome sense of deja vu as Ray was spun backward into my arms. I felt the exact same flash of rage as the last time Ray placed himself in the way of a bullet meant for me. I caught him automatically, barely registering the two gunshots that followed, one from Detective Huey's gun and one from an uniformed officer's. I was only concerned with Ray. He had spun so that his face was towards me and I saw a light in his eyes, as though he were content, satisfied.

I lowered him to the ground, stripped off my tunic and wadded it up to press against his shoulder. He looked up at me and almost grinned, saying breathlessly, "You're going to mess up the uniform, Fraser."

"It's more than worth it," I replied seriously. His grin brightened for a moment, then his eyes darted around the room and he tried to sit up, but I held him down.

"Did you get him? The bad guy, is he done?"

"Yes, Ray, the bad guy is done."

"Good, good. Greatness."

I cupped my free hand under Ray's head, shielding it from the floor. I tried to ignore the slowly growing pool of blood under his shoulder.

"I know him." I bent my head closer to Ray, barely making out his next words. "He was at Warfield's club when I went to pick you up after you got taken down." I started and craned my neck, trying to see the man who shot Ray, but people were crowding around him, and around us, blocking my view.

"Are you sure, Ray?"

"Oh yeah, positive," he whispered.

"Fraser?" I turned to look at Lieutenant Welsh. "How is he?"

"I think he'll be fine, Lieutenant. Ray says he knew the man. Knew him from Mr. Warfield's club."

"Okay. Good. We got the guy, so no worries there. An ambulance should be here in a couple of minutes. Take care of him, Constable." I felt Lieutenant Welsh's hand squeeze my shoulder for a minute, then he was gone.

Ray's cold hand was suddenly on my wrist and I looked into his eyes.

"Frase, you know I love you, right?" I waited, slightly breathless, for the 'symbolically' that was sure to follow, but when it didn't come, I breathed deeply and replied, "Of course, Ray."

"Cool," he whispered, satisfied. Then, "Frase, you love me?"

Oh, the fact that he even had to ask hurt unimaginably.

"Always, Ray, always," I whispered and smiled at the beatific expression on his face.

I watched as Ray's eyes closed slightly, and he hissed before arching in pain, pushing his head back into my hand. I could only watch as the pain made him even paler.

"Easy, Ray, just concentrate on breathing. The paramedics will be here shortly."

"Fraser?" Ray asked, still slightly breathless.

"Yes, Ray?"

"When paramedics g'here, I ... pass out, right?"

"Yes, Ray, you have my permission."

"Greatness."

Then I talked to him, told him to hold on, to stay awake, that everything would be fine as long as he didn't leave me, and never stepped in front of a bullet for me again. I didn't realize he spoke until there was a slightly cool finger on my lips. I looked at him, and he was still pale and in obvious pain, but the affection and amusement was also evident. "Yes, Ray?" I asked, a little out of breath from my fear and long speech.

"Fraser."

"Yes, Ray?" I repeated, puzzled, bending down to better hear his whisper.

"Fraser, why did kamikaze pilots wear helmets?" I jerked back, looking at him in shock. He was smiling.

"I don't know, Ray. I have no idea. Ray, are you...?"

"I'm gonna be okay, Fraser, it just hurts. I don't think I'm gonna die."

"I know... I just..." I trailed off weakly, just looking at Ray.

Ray smiled at me again, his eyes full of warmth and affection. And love. He grabbed my hand with his good hand and squeezed, holding on to me until the paramedics came. Then he held on as long as they let us. In the ambulance, then in the emergency room whenever we were allowed to, finally letting go when he was taken to surgery.

I paced in the waiting room for what felt like days, but was actually only two hours, before the doctor was telling me Ray was going to be fine, except for some nerve and muscle damage, which should be corrected through physiotherapy. Then Ray was in recovery. I asked the nurses politely and they allowed me into his quiet room. Then, without conscious thought, I was holding his hand again, thankful all over again that he was still here, still alive.

I wake up slowly, not like you see on TV when people wake up from surgery all of a sudden. Slowly, like I'm floating up to being awake. Kind of weird. I don't think it helps that I'm floating on some pretty good drugs, too. So it feels like a really slow process. But as soon as I'm anywhere near awake, I know that Fraser's holding my hand. Still. I can tell it's Frase cause no one else has hands that warm.

The next thing I figure out is that I can't move my left arm. But that's okay, cause I have the feeling that if I did move it, it would hurt. A lot.

"Ray? Are you awake?"

Yup, Fraser.

"Yeah, think so..."

"How do you feel?"

"Like I'm on good drugs."

"Good," he says decisively, which kind of throws me for a second, then I'm back on the track of 'Fraser doesn't like to see me hurting, so he's all in favor of the good drugs.'

I feel Fraser squeeze my hand a little and I grab it right back to let him know I'm all right, I'm still here.

I ask about the shooter and Fraser tells me Huey and some uniform named Addams took him down. Then he tells me what the docs say about my shoulder, but I can feel myself slipping away.

"Go back to sleep, Ray," Fraser says, squeezing my hand again. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Fraser?" I have to tell him before I go back under, so it better be now.

"Yes, Ray?"

"You know I love you even when I haven't just been shot, right?"

"Of course, Ray. And I you."

I breathe a little sigh of relief and feel myself letting go.

"That's good, Frase, greatness.... just greatness. 'Cause I do, always, always." I think I've made my point cause Fraser reaches up and kind of caresses my hair and then has to wipe something from his eye.

"Always, Ray," he echoes.

I smile at that and say, "Fraser?"

"Yes, Ray?" He leans a little closer.

"Do illiterate people like alphabet soup?"

I smile at his grin and feel myself relax. And I let go, back to nice, soothing sleep, because everything is right.

I'm sitting at my fucking desk again, working on some report or other, trying not to fall asleep. The physical therapy is a bitch, but the therapist says I'm building muscle mass and all that, so I guess it's working, but it takes so much out of me each day. Thank Christ I only work half days on PT days. And thank Christ (or maybe Thatcher) that Fraser is here with me most every day. He keeps me sane. Even he can't keep me in a good mood all the time, but he keeps me sane.

It's been three weeks since the shooting and I'm expected to make a full recovery, but it's taking so fucking long. PT today left me sore and I'm tired and pretty whiny and this fucking report is just not getting done. Fraser's sitting across the desk from me, listening to me hunting and pecking and reading over some report of his own. I know I'm getting that look on my face I get when it starts to hurt, and I can feel Fraser's eyes on me every so often. I can feel myself getting kind of lightheaded and I must be getting pale but I mean, it's a fucking report, I can get it done without having a nap.

I'm trying to stop my hand from trembling long enough to type in the 'n' when Fraser stands up, neatens his folder, then walks over beside me. I can feel his eyes on the back of my head. I'm still trying to type that fucking 'n'. Then I feel a big, warm, gentle, Fraser hand cup the back of my neck and I can't help but push up into that touch. Fraser's fingers kind of knead my neck on the one side, while on the other side, his thumb rubs up and down the tendon that always seizes up on me. He shifts a little so I'm cut off from the rest of the precinct.

"It's time to go home, Ray," Fraser says, all soft and quiet-like. When he gets like that, I can't help but just give in. So I nod against his hand, which is still busy loosening up my neck, and he leaves it there for a minute more, maybe as a reward, I don't know. Then he squeezes gently, releases me, and grabs my jacket from the back of my chair. I don't really need his steadying hand on my good arm when I stand up, but I like it anyway. Then he helps me get my lame arm into my jacket, we sign out and we're good to go.

We get home and I just kind of fall onto the couch. I don't remember being this tired the last time I got shot. But I didn't have fucking physical therapy every other day then. I wasn't almost 40 that time, either. I hear Fraser puttering around a little, feeding Dief, putting away my boots, changing out of his uniform, and then he's in the living room with me. He kind of props me up a little then slides in behind me, his legs on either side of me. And I'm in my favourite place in the world, wrapped up in Fraser. I let my head lean back onto his shoulder and he brushes a kiss across my cheekbone. I mumble, I don't know what, something, and snuggle back further, feeling his arms wrap around me more securely, and I just give up for a bit. I don't know how long I snooze, not too long, but when I wake up, Fraser's still there and he's whispering these things to me.

"I love you so much, Ray... You're so brave.... You need to let yourself recover.... Forcing it won't work... If you don't let yourself rest, you'll just hurt yourself. And I couldn't stand that."

I twist my head around a little so I'm nuzzling his neck, just to let him know I'm still here and I'm okay. He kind of sighs and I feel him relax a bit. Then Fraser squeezes me a little and whispers, "Are you hungry?" I think about it for a second and nod into his neck, but don't make a move to get up. Fraser seems kind of content for a bit, too, so we hang around for a few minutes, then Fraser shifts behind me. I push myself up to my feet and stretch a little, feeling the pull in my shoulder. I smile down at Fraser and he gives me this sweet smile back.

"Do you want the shower first, Ben?" I ask, watching as his smile grows into a grin. He loves it when I call him Ben.

"No, Ray, you go ahead. I'll get supper started and you can watch it while I shower."

I nod and go have a quick shower. The hot water loosens my muscles a bit and gets rid of the headache I had started, so I'm much more relaxed when I get out. And the apartment smells like heaven from whatever Fraser is heating up. He's standing in front of the stove, so I walk up behind him and wrap my arms around him. Well, as good as I can. I peek over his shoulder and see my Mom's spaghetti sauce in a pan and a pot of water almost ready for the pasta.

My Mom is another person who's been great since the whole being shot thing. I know it really scared her, but she hasn't smothered me or anything. I'm pretty sure her first impulse was to tell me I should quit the Force. Instead, she's been making me food and ironing my shirts and my jeans, which is just too weird. And she's fine with Fraser staying here. I don't know if she's figured the rest of it out, but she's really happy with him taking care of me. They both think I don't eat enough, so she gets along really well with him.

So Fraser goes into the bathroom to have his shower and I start the pasta. I get the plates and stuff out, too, and everything's pretty much done by the time Fraser's out of the shower. We settle on the couch and watch the Blackhawk game on the tube. We finish supper, do up the dishes and go back to the couch, this time a lot closer. Making out with Fraser on the couch is now one of my top five favourite activities.

It's only after I have to break away for a jaw-cracking yawn that we head to bed. I have to say, snuggling with Fraser in bed is also in the top five. He's big and warm and he smells good and he's Fraser. It's all good. I only have enough energy to strip to my boxers, snuggle in good, give Fraser a goodnight kiss and pretty much drift off.

I wake up sometime in the wee hours of the morning, when everything is usually gray and bleached out, but when I roll over, Fraser's there and he's still, what's that word? Vibrant. He's still vibrant. So fucking beautiful.

I snuggle in a little closer and he automatically pulls me in, murmuring my name in his sleep. God, he makes me feel like the world is just perfect sometimes. Just because he's in it and he wants me. I lean over a little and nuzzle his neck a little and he murmurs again and kisses my temple. And I suddenly realize that I'm awake, not tired for once and in bed, almost naked, with the man of my dreams, who is also almost naked. So I nuzzle him again. Then lick my way from his collarbone, up his neck to his jaw, then over to his lips. By the time I get there, Fraser's waking up, reacting, his hand already rubbing on my back.

I kiss him slowly, softly, not wanting to startle him. When his lips part under mine and his tongue traces my lips, I smile into the kiss and meet his tongue with mine. We're both a little breathless when the kiss ends and I pull back a little so I can see him.

Fraser's eyes are bright, so bright, and he's smiling his little smile that means he's deeply happy. I can just smile back at him and kiss him again. And again. I'm propped up on my good arm, so I put my bad arm to good use and just feel him. Running my hand from his hip up to his shoulder, then down again and feel him arch under me when I rub a nipple with my thumb. I pull back again and shimmy and wiggle until my boxers are on the floor, watching as Fraser does the same. And then he stops for a second.

"Ray? Are you sure? We haven't..."

"I know, Ben, it's okay. I feel good. My shoulder's fine and, God, I want you." I lean into another kiss and he smiles again, then meets me halfway.

We meet in the center of the bed and we're kissing and rubbing and, God, but it feels good, so fucking good. He feels so good. And tastes so good. I'm back to nuzzling his neck and teasing a nipple and he's back to the breathlessness. I smile when I hear and feel his moan.

I lick my way down his chest, stopping to suck and nibble on his nipples and he arches underneath me, gasping my name. I smile into his belly button when I get the same response there. I wrap my hand around him, then bend down and just lick the head of his cock, smiling a little at Fraser's jerk and I can't help but moan a little at the taste of him, bitter and salty and clean and just Fraser. I get in a comfortable position and start to explore him with my tongue.

I start at the base and lick my way up to the tip, then the same on the other side. Fraser's hand is carding through my hair, and he's moaning again, and he tastes so good I just can't stand it anymore. I wrap my hand around the base of his cock and suck him in and he makes this noise, like he's trying to be quiet but just can't. He fits in me perfectly and I moan around him and he kind of jerks under me and makes that noise again. So I get a rhythm going; down, suck on the way up, then down again, and hum when my lips meet my fist.

Fraser's moaning almost constantly now and suddenly I realize that he's actually moaning a word. He's moaning my name. And just like that, I move my hand away and suck him in, all the way. He arches again, yells my name and he's coming in my mouth, and I'm swallowing him down and it's so good, he tastes so good and I made him yell like that...

I let him slip out a little as he calms down and clean all of that Fraser taste from him, then slip back up the bed to him. He's still panting and kind of flushed and when he opens his eyes, they're even brighter than before.

Fraser gently pulls me the rest of the way up and kisses me, hard, moaning a little again. I can't help but press myself against his hip a little. He slips out from underneath me so I land on my stomach and his hands are on my shoulders, holding me there, before I can roll over. I groan a little as he works out some of the sore muscles in my shoulder, then groan again when he nibbles on the base of my neck. He spreads my legs a bit with his to make himself a spot, then he settles in.

Fraser massages and kisses his way down my back, keeping me aroused but so relaxed all at the same time. No one else but Fraser. He gets to the base of my spine and spends a minute or so there, licking and nuzzling, before moving down again. He must feel me tense because he stops, not there but really fucking close to there.

"Is this all right, Ray?" he murmurs, and I arch at the vibrations and must moan something because he's moving again, down, down, oh God... All I can do is moan and arch into his tongue, flat and warm and rough and smooth and wet and hot, oh God, so fucking hot... And I know he likes it too, because he fucking hums every so often and that just jacks me up higher and higher each time. I'm clenching the sheets in my fingers, trying to hold on, so close, hold on, hold the fuck on, then Ben's slipping a hand underneath me and his hand is wrapping around me and his thumb rubs and at the same time I feel his tongue push in and I'm coming, coming, yelling his name into the pillow, pushing back into him and coming...

Fraser's tongue finally gentles on me and I feel the bed dip a little as he moves up the bed, then he carefully rolls me over onto my side so my back is to his front. I can just catch my breath and pat his hand as he nuzzles my neck. I feel him reach down and pull the covers up over us, then he settles me more firmly against him. I can feel myself slipping away again and his warmth at my back is just helping me go.

"I love you, Ben."

"I love you, Ray. Always."

I smile at the fuzzy memory of the hospital bed and snuggle back against him, warm and tired and so, so happy.


End file.
